I do not apologize for being ridiculously frantic at the approach of a needle around the crook of my elbow. Yesterday, I made a big fuss asking for a tiny one and assessing the qualities of the two available “stickers”.  The long preliminary paper shuffling did not help and the idea of having a pint of my blood drawn as a precaution for the upcoming implantation of new knees was more difficult than the actual operation.

I am needle phobic.  I have been since a small, skinny kid who needed the conventional shots of that time and punctures in my ears for abscesses. All my root canals were done without novocaine and all my teeth capped without the dreaded needles.  But, that is just me. I admit to other phobias but none as simple and deadly as sharp pointed tiny lances.

Now, national phobias are coming into focus while we gear up for the final onslaught of two campaigns and curious side issues in the quest for the Oval Office. I would like to dispense with an aberrant phobia that has been around for almost forty years.  This is Ralph Nader who once had a space reserved for him in the pantheons of selfless heroes and quixotic nudges who try to tell us the truth about ourselves.  He has lost his glow while his truths keep trying to catch our attention. Both political parties are afraid of his pointed rants.

Americans have a phobia about poor people.  They don’t want to see them much less hear about them or think about them. Being poor is something to run from and this is a national pastime except for the poor who sometimes find it not so bad and ordinary. But Americans with a few pots and a place to live, live in fear of being classified as poor. Remember the rich little girl in a school room asked to give a talk about poor?  She replied by telling how she was poor as well as the upstairs maid, the downstairs maid, the butler, the chauffer and the pool cleaner were poor too.

My little harmless phobias include crossing the street when I see someone who looks like someone in my past who hurt me. I will cross the street and go a long way to avoid someone I do not know.  I also have a harmless phobia (Carol insists it is a habit) about red lights. The car eats gas to go miles out of the way, but I will do that in order not to be frustrated by red traffic lights.  And, so the list goes on.  But, those needles, now, they are the most absolute and most terrifying things to make a grown man cringe and cry like a baby.